


Your hands, my hands

by sweariwouldnt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2010-2012ish, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bottom Harry, Canon, Come eating/licking (very vague), Fluff, Hand kink?, M/M, Palm Reading, Smut, hand massages, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweariwouldnt/pseuds/sweariwouldnt
Summary: Approximately six times when Louis loved Harry's hands.





	Your hands, my hands

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, this is not as filthy as the tags might make it seem like - I am just a very generous tagger. 
> 
> This all started as a silly drabble idea but then turned into a plot bunny breeding like a bunny; sadly it happened during one of the worst weeks of my life, so it took a while. 
> 
> No offence meant to any palm readers. I am very interested in it myself, and I hope I didn't much lie about that or tendonitis massage. 
> 
> Also, I hope the smut isn't absolutely cringe. It very well may be. Happy to receive any suggestions and help with it! 
> 
> I shall dedicate this to Harry's hands and Louis' infinite love for them (and a little bit to my own hand, which also hurts).

Harry’s hands have always been a huge thing for Louis. 

It had started innocently enough. Louis had barely known this curly haired boy, who seemed to radiate some sort of magic with his sparkling green eyes and very deep dimples, for mere seconds when he’d first seen his hands. Maybe it wasn’t quite the loo etiquette, to stare at someone’s hands, but Louis figured it could’ve been worse – at least the hands he was starting at weren’t holding a penis. 

Harry’s hands had looked soft, like they’d feel nice and warm to hold, with long, slender and bony fingers. Harry’s index finger had been rubbing under his nose, cheeks a little flustered, then moving to pinch his lower lip between his index finger and thumb, like he was considering something. Maybe considering what’d be the right sort of apology for peeing on someone? Surely that kind of apology wasn’t within anyone’s practised repertoire. While Harry’s right hand had been busy on his face, the left had been waving in the air towards Louis’ direction, up and down, a quick wave around Harry’s pelvis, with the fingers fidgeting a little. Louis had felt hypnotised, so much so that his totally-not-thought-out response to Harry’s _‘Sorry I peed on you’_ had come out resembling quite a bit like _‘Any time’_. 

Louis reckoned it an absolutely tremendous, bloody brilliant, start to a great friendship. It was also a start for Louis’ infatuation with all things Harry, including his very soft and quirky hands. 

\--

“Get off me!” Harry’s yelling in a high-pitched voice in between loud giggles, lying on the sofa. 

He’s trying to catch Louis’ flailing hands, legs pulled up to his stomach as if he’s trying to protect his very ticklish sides from Louis, who had jumped on Harry and pinned him down with one hand holding up Harry’s hands above Harry’s head and one hand – predictably – trying to sneak under Harry’s shirt, to tickle his sides. 

“Get you off?” Louis whispers quietly to Harry’s ear whilst his knee is trying to spread Harry’s legs. “I’d love to.” 

The way Harry blushes is delicious. 

“Please, you two,” comes a bored and slightly offended sigh from a handler. Louis doesn’t remember their name. “You’re up next.” 

Reluctantly, Louis gets up from the couch and adjusts his trousers, bright red today. Harry has stopped squirming and is getting up as well, hands all over his hair, trying make it presentable for the cameras they’re about to face. 

Louis stares at Harry’s hands, eyes fixed, long fingers running through wild curls and ending with both hands messing up the hair. There’s very little logic in Harry and what he considers fixing his hair. 

“I’m going to mark you,” Louis decides and reaches for a pen. 

Harry’s got a look in his eyes that Louis can’t quite decipher, as he’s holding his palm open whilst Louis draws a small letter L to his hand. Harry doesn’t even question it. Louis traces the first lines of the L a few times, making sure it’s thick and visible, and then closes Harry’s palm and presses a light kiss to his knuckles. 

They meet the interviewer, cameras rolling, and Louis catches himself more than once, staring at Harry getting lost rambling. Harry’s hands are making extravagant gestures, emphasising what Harry (and thus Louis) apparently thinks are the high parts of the story, waving in the air with this strange sort of shake to them, fingers fidgeting as Harry makes movements that look like he’s kneading dough. He looks like organised chaos, and the centre point in all this organised chaos, is a little blue L that Louis follows with his eyes like a cat would a laser beam. 

\--

Louis enters the backstage area after having sneaked out for a quick smoke, and with one look at Harry, knows something’s wrong. 

Harry’s down on his knees by the end of a small coffee table, large posters of both group shots and individual ones scattered on it. He’s holding a thick black marker on his right hand, left palm slightly messy with traces of black ink. On the table in front of him, is a menacingly high looking pile of posters of solo shots of Harry. Organised neatly next to those, are Louis’ posters and another Sharpie laying on top of them. 

Harry’s wearing a pout that concerns Louis; it’s not his usual ‘I am adorable give me everything I want’ -pout, but one that Louis reckons Harry doesn’t even know he makes. It’s a pout for moments when Harry is truly upset, usually towards himself, and depending on the seriousness of said upset, also on the verge of tears. 

Louis sees Harry lean back on his shins and sigh, as he walks to him. 

“What’s wrong, Haz?” Louis ruffles Harry’s hair and kneels down next to him. 

Harry startles, not having noticed Louis come back, and tries to put on a smile. “Nothing.” 

Louis nods, and uncaps his black Sharpie. “Thanks for setting this up for me. Very nice of you.” And then he waits. 

As expected, Harry sighs again as he starts to sign another poster. After maybe two signatures, he puts the cap on the marker. “Lou…” 

“Yeah?” Louis is trying to sound nonchalant, scribbling down quick smileys to his own posters. 

“Do you… Am I…” Harry sighs deeply. “Do you think I’m, like, a freak?” 

Louis chuckles despite himself. “What do you mean? Is this about sex?” He puts the cap back on his marker. “I’m absolutely up for anything, if this is your way of…” 

He turns to look at Harry and shuts up, seeing the serious look on Harry’s face and pout, still present. It’s a rare feeling to not amuse Harry out of his mood, even a little bit. 

Harry bites his lip and turns his eyes down, back to the poster. “No, like… a freak of nature.”

Louis shuffles closer to Harry and takes the Sharpie off his hand, putting it down and squeezing Harry’s forearm. “Of course I don’t.” He pulls Harry’s sleeve up a little, fingertips caressing Harry’s inner wrist. His skin there is very soft. “What’s going on?” 

Harry pulls his arm away from Louis, lowering the sleeve again to cover half of his hand, and drops both of his hands to his lap, staring at them. He nods towards the poster. “Look at it.” 

Louis glances at the poster, of Harry smiling exaggeratedly big even for Harry, with his hand up in a greeting gesture. “Very nice. Always is.”

Harry lifts his hands up to his face, and rubs his eyes. “My hands are awful. So fucking weird. Everything about me is so fucking weird.”

“Quirky,” Louis corrects automatically. “Nothing about you is weird.” 

“But it is!” Harry sounds exasperate. “I have four fucking nipples, Lou. My feet are rank. It’s like I have way too many toes. My pinky is all wonky, it’s like a bloody alien finger trying to go home.” Harry gestures around the poster in which, truth be told, his pinky is rather separate from the rest of the fingers with a big gap between them. “And like, that’s quite enough already, but then there’s this dumb birth mark as well and it’s like… One thing would be fine, but it’s all of them and there’s not one fucking part of me that doesn’t look freaky.” Harry finishes his whining with a sound that sounds like a sob, and stares at Louis defiantly. “It’s like the circus got cancelled and they decided to dump all the weird things on me.” Harry sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Except the beard.” 

Louis is trying to figure out something to say, anything, when Harry goes on .

“Like of course I don’t have a beard! That would be normal for a boy my age and no, we can’t have that! All I have is fucking curls and dimples and, like, even my hands are girly! Look at them, Lou! Piano player fingers, that’s what mum said. And, feels like a baby’s bottom, she said that too. You probably don’t even know if it’s me or Lux’s bum when I touch you.” Harry drops his head to the table with a clunk that sounds like he probably did it harder than he thought, and it hurt more than he thought it would. Harry lifts his head up and rubs his nose and then forehead, looking miserable. 

Louis wills himself not to smile, but reaches out to Harry’s hand again and pulls the sleeve up to his elbow. He reaches down on the coffee table to get a pen on the further corner, speaking at the same time. 

“Well, Harold. All of that is true, not going to lie. All of that is a part of you. However,” he gets the pen and looks Harry in the eye, testing the pen works on a backside corner of one poster. “You shouldn’t say that, or even think that. Your hands are actually my hands.” 

“What, everything about me belongs to you?” Harry looks incredulous and a little bit hopeful. 

Louis proceeds to draw a smiley face to the darker bit of skin above Harry’s wrist. He pretends to concentrate on that and continues with feigned nonchalance. 

“It does. And you, pal, have told me that you like everything that’s mine, or anything that I like, and I happen to like all your toes and weird fingers and twenty-eight nipples, so I’d appreciate if you pipe down and start liking those bits with me.” 

\--

If Louis were prone to feeling like a creep, he probably would right now, as he’s tracing his finger on Harry’s eyebrows, then very gently on his eye lashes, running his thumb under his eye and softly squeezing his cheek, unable to stop himself from putting the tip of his index finger up Harry’s nostril – no reaction – and then mushing his lips together, again to no reaction. Harry carries on snoring softly, but not loud enough to cover the birds singing outside. The early morning sunshine is coming through the curtains, and it warms up Louis’ toes at the bottom of the bed. 

Feeling devious, and also very bored, Louis runs his hand down Harry’s chest and pinches nipple one (no reaction), nipple two (Harry’s big toe flinches), nipple three (Harry’s whole foot spasms) and finally, nipple four. 

“Fuck off,” Harry grumbles as he pulls the duvet over his head. 

“Good morning to you as well,” Louis says loudly and tickles Harry’s side softly. “Get up and entertain me.” 

Harry turns his back to Louis, mumbling something Louis can’t make out. Louis grabs the duvet and pulls it off Harry completely. Harry’s reaches his hands to try and pull it back, but he then gives in turns to face Louis. “Morning,” he smiles. “Sleep well?” 

“Mhmm,” Louis affirms as he boops Harry’s nose. “Very comfy bed you have here, Harold.” 

“Pfft,” Harry huffs, “you must mean very comfy me. You slept mostly on me.” 

“Very comfy you then.” 

They wiggle their toes against each other. 

“This is nice. Thanks for coming up with me.” 

“Thanks for taking me. And not like, being weird about being at your mum’s house, and…” 

They’d gone up to Cheshire late last night, after a fun day out in Manchester, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible and pretending they were just Harry and Louis, not those two guys from that boyband. Anne and Robin had gone to bed by the time they’d arrived, with late night snacks left on the kitchen table. 

Harry turns to lie on his back. “Ah, mum. Yeh.” He looks a bit strange. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Harry shrugs. 

Louis isn’t an idiot. “M’not an idiot, Haz. What’s up? Your mum loves me.” 

“Oh, of course, she does!” Harry rushes. “Just that… You know how I’ve told you she’s a bit… energetic. Into things. Gets excited.” 

“Yeah. Funny, almost like she’s your mother.” 

Harry sticks out his tongue. “And, like, she always has… a project, I guess.”

“A project?” 

“Or more like a hobby.”

“Hobbies aren’t good?” 

“No, yeah, just that… hers often seem to be a bit… Uhm.” 

Louis feels a slight flutter of worry invade his mind now. “What? Out with it. Is she into Satanism? Castrations?” 

Harry laughs. “No, nothing like that. She’s into palm reading, currently.” 

Louis blinks. “Okay. That’s… fun, I’m sure.” 

Harry clears his throat. “She wants to read ours, she said. Apparently she’s read everyone else’s already and she needs new hands to practice on.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “I guess I now see her infatuation with black cats.” 

Harry’s eyes meet his. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. If she’s going to go all woohah on you. She’s still my mum.” 

“Of course,” Louis leans in to kiss Harry, “I love everything you love as well. And I do adore your mum. Quirks and all. Geez, it sounds almost like… you’re related. I know those genes.” 

Harry swats Louis with a pillow, and Louis guesses it’s not uncalled for.

“Good morning, dears!” Anne sounds chirpy as they enter the kitchen, met with a delicious-looking breakfast set on the table. Anne’s just dishing out scrambled eggs on two plates. “I hope you had a great day and night,” she smiles as Harry walks up to her to peck her cheek, and Louis follows suit as Anne looks at him and taps her cheek. 

The breakfast is great, and Louis feels so damn lucky, again, to have been so welcomed into this family. Not that he’d thought a person as golden as Harry would be a result of an awful upbringing by dislikeable people, but he still feels taken aback at moments when he sees Anne look at him so brightly and kindly. He totally gets what Harry meant, after his first visit to Donny, sounding so taken aback and disbelieving whilst saying he felt like maybe Louis’ mum adored him. 

“So!” Anne puts both her thumbs up after Harry and Louis have finished their breakfast, leaning back on their chairs with hands over their full stomachs. “I’ve fed you, so I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a counter favour, right?” 

Harry looks at Louis with his ‘I told you so’ -look. 

“Not at all,” Louis smiles. “Our palms are all yours.”

Anne raises her brow and looks at Harry. “Have you been going around telling your sweetheart…”

“Mu-um!” Harry whines and it sounds like, well, an embarrassed 17-year old teenager whining to his mum who keeps embarrassing him. It amuses Louis to no avail. 

“…that your mum has now gone bonkers and is into palm reading? Have you?” Anne is bad at hiding her delighted tone. 

“Just, maybe you should get new hobbies, that’s all,” Harry mutters. 

“Shush you. This _is_ my new hobby, darling.” Anne then turns to look at Louis. “I love learning new things and having an open mind.” 

“Absolutely,” Louis nods. 

“See, Harry? I’m sure you embarrass me a lot more than I could ever embarrass you. I’m _charming_.” She stands up and nods towards the living room. “Now, lovebirds, if you would kindly follow me to the conservatory.” 

They take their seats around a round white wooden table, as Anne picks up a heavy looking old book and places it next to her. She reaches out to Harry’s left hand and pulls it towards her, measuring it with a focused look on her eyes and then reaching out to do the same to Louis’ hand. She mutters something to herself, glances at her book, and smiles. She places both their hands on the table, squeezing their fingers with hers and leaving her hands on theirs. 

“I’ve just started with analysing your handshapes, with measuring the size of your palms and fingers. Harry, dear, your handshape is water with both your palm and fingers being long. Louis, yours is air. I must say, I am not one bit surprised!” Anne looks gleeful. 

Harry and Louis look at each other suspiciously and then to Anne. 

“Mum, you’re going to… Have to explain things. Like, me and Lou are not that fluent in hand talk.” 

For a second, Anne looks surprised. “Ah! Of course, pardon me. Harry, your shape means that you’re creative and perceptive, sympathetic, but also prone to be moody - and I saw that eyeroll – “ Anne winks at Louis, “and emotional. You have the tendency to do things quietly which, goodness do I long to see that day!” 

Louis looks at Harry, who looks deep in his thoughts. “I can see that. Yeah, that sounds like him, really.” 

Anne beams. “And you, love, you are witty, and sociable and talkative.”

Harry snickers and earns a kick to his shin under the table from Louis. 

“But also can be cold and spiteful at times. Your way of thinking is radical, different, and that’s also the way you go on about life. You have great potential in you, just be aware of not becoming bitter and using it for negativity.” 

Louis feels Harry nudge his knee with his. It’s a rather strange feeling, feeling Anne’s warm hand still holding his fingers, and – not that he’s much what he’d consider spiritual, he’s a very down-to-earth person most of the time – with Anne’s other hand still attached to Harry’s, it’s almost like there’s a warm energy trickling through their connected hands, making its way up Louis’ veins. It feels like a comforting embrace, almost. 

“Now, if you could put your hands on the table, palms up.” 

The boys do as asked and Anne explains. “Your left hand, the lines, are what you are born with – ah, Harry, see, this is where you had the health issues when you were young, and oh, Louis darling, I can see things here, poor dear, I need to give your mum a call – and then, your right hand is what your life is morphing to be, and… Oh. Oh my.” Anne looks taken aback, her eyes switching between Harry’s and Louis’ hands. “Goodness me.” 

“Mum?” Harry sounds alarmed. “You see something bad?” 

“Oh, no, not at all,” Anne seems to shake herself off, “just… Your lines. They are so similar. I’ve never seen this before.” She turns to look at her book and flips through a few pages urgently, then looking up and stares through a window for a moment. “Of course.” 

Louis is feeling weirdly concerned and Harry tuts. “Mum.” 

Anne turns to look at them, and smiles widely and warmly. “It’s not really a coincidence you two met. No, it truly does seem that, I don’t know how to put it, it was in the cards to start with. Or, in the lines, I guess.” 

Harry and Louis share a look. “Uhm?” Louis makes a vague sound. 

“See, here,” Anne traces lines on their hands with the middle fingers, “these are your life lines, and these, these are your heart lines. You can see they are almost identical – deep life lines, it means there’s lots of vitality, they run long, and with heart lines, you both have them starting from here, running all the way across the palm, and…” She turns their hands so she can look at the outer side of the palms. “Ah, just as I thought. Very good.” She squeezes their hands and places them on the table, crossing her own hands over her heart. “You two will be wonderful. Just wonderful.” 

\--

Harry’s hands are shaking – hell, his whole body is shaking. 

“I’m going to fucking kill Ben,” Louis mutters as his holding Harry’s freezing hands between his own, trying to warm them up with his warm breath. The cold wind on the pier is the kind that cuts through skin all the way to the bones, freezing them, leaving a body unable to do much more than shiver. Louis places Harry’s hands to his cheeks, covering the hands with his. Harry’s skin feels unusually dry and scratchy, and as he’s stroking his thumb on Louis’ cheeks so frozen that they feel like they’re burning, it feels uncomfortable. Harry’s teeth are clattering and lips trembling, as Louis leans his forehead to Harry’s. “I’m going to peel those gloves off his fucking hands, how the fuck don’t you have a pair, I’m going to throw him to that sea, I swear I’m…”

“Lou,” Harry says calmingly through his clattering teeth as he takes his hand off Louis’ cheeks and sneaks them around Louis, putting them on his back under his shirt. “Your sweater isn’t soft.” Harry sounds upset. “It itches.” 

Harry takes a moment to tangle his hand back to the open air from under the shirt, and then laces his fingers with Louis’. They fit perfectly, but Harry still looks displeased. 

“Sorry my hands are so cold and dry. Must feel annoying.” 

Louis unlaces their hands and holds both of his hands up in front of Harry. Harry’s confused for a moment, but then places his own against Louis’ so their hands are pressed together, open palms, fingers flat on fingers. 

Harry’s mouth forms a smile, even though his teeth are still clattering loudly. “Ah, much better.” 

“More skin.” Louis smiles. 

“More skin,” Harry nods, and somehow their hands feel warmer.

\--

Harry isn’t aware Louis is watching him. He’s standing in front of their bedroom mirror, fresh out of shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, little drops of water from his hair still dripping down his back. His hair has grown suddenly, the curls almost reach his shoulders now. Louis has just come home from a writing session with Liam, planning on hitting the shower quickly before they need to head out to meet up with some friends for dinner, with some time left to chill out whilst Harry takes ages to make himself look like he didn’t take any time at all. He’d stopped still by the door, half-naked Harry somehow mesmerising to watch – well, as he’s standing in front of the mirror, it’s like watching two Harry’s. There’s something about the idea it that starts Louis to feel aroused. Which, in itself, feels weird as Harry wrapped in a white towel and literally clean and pure looks so… serenely beautiful.

Louis watches as Harry reaches out his arms, looking at them, then turning them and bending his hands slightly so that he’s looking at the hands in the mirror. Harry sighs, turns the hands again and Louis can see him clench his fingers tightly together, instead of the pinky being separate from the other four fingers on both hands. Harry bites his lips and looks at the mirror again, and then moves to poke each of his four nipples with both of his index fingers. He repeats the movement almost as if he’s hitting the keys on a typewriter. Louis can hear Harry mutter ‘fucking freak’ under his breath, until he stops and wiggles his toes, rubbing his left foot with his right a little roughly. Harry pulls his hair up with his hand and turns his head to his side, and traces the outline of his ear and then pinches the earlobe. He looks sad, disappointed, frustrated. He takes a few steps closer to the mirror, pulls a face at himself and then leans his forehead against the mirror Harry’s. 

Louis walks quietly into the room and behind Harry, putting his hands on Harry’s waist, squeezes softly. He can feel warmth radiating from Harry’s back. He presses a soft kiss on Harry’s shoulder, skin still warm and a little moist from the shower, their eyes meeting in the mirror. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Louis whispers. “I adore every single thing about you.” He moves his lips up the side of Harry’s neck, softly pushing a few strands of hair to the side, kissing a spot of bare skin behind Harry’s ear. 

Harry turns his head to look at Louis, lips slightly parted and breath warm, with a look that Louis knows from experience is his ‘please kiss me’ -look. 

“Nu uh,” Louis shakes his heads lightly and nudges Harry’s cheek with his finger, turning Harry’s head back to face the mirror. “Keep your eyes on you, babe.”

Harry gives a small nod, sucking his lip between his teeth. His breathing is getting shallow, and Louis can see his nipples puckering up. 

“No lip biting allowed,” Louis tries to sound stern but it comes out breathy. 

He runs his fingers across Harry’s upper back, feeling the sharp bones and silky skin on his shoulders. His fingers move down Harry’s right arm, all the way down to take a hold of his hand. Louis curls his fingers around Harry’s, putting all but the index finger to a fist, gently stroking the knuckles on the index finger and bending it, finally lifting their entwined hands to Harry’s mouth. 

“Bite that,” Louis nudges Harry’s own finger towards his mouth and Harry obligingly opens his mouth, biting the middle of the crooked finger. Louis nods approvingly, lips moving on Harry’s shoulder. 

He starts to kneel down behind Harry, running his thumbs under the nooks of Harry’s shoulder blades, adding pressure as he pulls the thumbs down Harry’s spine on both sides, until he reaches the top of the towel; he teases the tips of his thumbs under the towel very slightly and cups Harry’s bum cheeks lightly. Louis shuffles around a little to make himself more comfortable and ease the pressure on his calves, as he’s now fully knelt down. Lifting the hem of the towel a little, he hears Harry gasp as he’s tickling the delicate skin behind Harry’s knees. Harry’s shin muscles flex, as if he’s willing himself to keep himself standing straight. 

Louis looks up to the mirror and is pleased to see Harry still has his finger on his mouth, his eyes are gleaming and there’s a tell-tale tent forming under the towel.

Louis slowly moves his hands up the back of Harry’s thighs, spreading his palm so he can cover as much skin as possible, pressing his thumbs a bit deeper on the tender skin inside the thighs, as he moves his hands all the way up to where the round swell of cheeks start. Louis presses a kiss to the dip of Harry’s spine through the towel. 

“Put your right hand on your throat, open, don’t press, be gentle, yeah,” Louis says quietly and sees goosebumps spread on Harry’s peachy bum, as his lips flutter on the skin and the moist of his breath spreads warmth to the skin. “And your left, put your left hand on your chest,” Louis continues as he reaches his hands to Harry’s front and opens the towel, letting it drop on the floor. He’s careful not to touch Harry’s dick, but lets his fingers wander softly above Harry’s thighs, very close to his groin, and then down, feeling Harry’s firm thighs, feeling the muscles flex under his touch. “So sexy, babe, you’re sex on legs,” he says as he bites the left buttock, but not too hard. 

Louis gets up, drawing his hands slowly up Harry’s thighs, sides, tickling gently as he’s standing up, his tongue following the ridges of Harry’s spine. Harry huffs as Louis’ body presses against Harry’s back full-length. 

“Open up, babe,” Louis suckles Harry’s earlobe, fingertip tracing Harry’s wet lips for moisture.

Harry opens his mouth, tongue peeking out first like always when he eats, or sucks. He sucks Louis’ finger, which he then moves down to draw circles around Harry’s nipple. 

Harry’s eyes catch Louis’, before he continues watching how his hands move down his chest slowly, firmly, with his muscles involuntarily flexing, his ribs becoming momentarily visible as he takes a long, shuttering breath. 

“Look at how good you look. How good your hands can make you feel,” Louis’ voice sounds filthy even to his own ears. 

Harry’s hands reach his lower stomach, and the movement stops. Harry looks at Louis through the mirror, questioning. 

Louis lets him wait for a moment as he presses open-mouthed, wet kisses to Harry’s neck, sucking on the tendon connecting it to Harry’s left shoulder, tracing his finger down from his nipple to Harry’s belly button, circling around it slowly. He takes Harry’s hand to his, and presses it down Harry’s lower stomach, urging it to start slow, heavy rubbing movements. 

Harry reaches his other hand behind them both, trying to pull Louis closer, and Louis lets him for a moment. He snuggles himself to Harry’s back, and feels himself get harder in his pants; his hardness met with the round softness of Harry’s ass. 

Harry’s whole body, skin everywhere, feels so hot to the touch, so compact, absolute sex, and as Harry keeps rubbing his belly, catching the flesh between his fingers, Louis quickly lets go of him to undress himself. He presses back to Harry, their naked skins get slicker, sweat starting to form. He licks Harry’s neck and blows on it, and the moist air cools his burning, tingling lips a little. 

“Spread your legs a little, love,” Louis takes a hold of Harry’s hand. “Can you feel how soft your skin is here, babe?” He leads their hands to Harry’s inner thigh. 

Harry nods and licks his lips subconsciously. He looks so kissable, lips slightly open, wet. Instead, Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek, and lets his lips flutter there for a moment, just hovering over the skin. His hand makes its way down Harry’s back again, and he presses the heel down, starting to knead the hot flesh on the dip of the spine with his knuckles gently. After a while, his thumbs slowly start to make their way down Harry’s crack, spreading the cheeks a little. 

“You can touch the tip now,” Louis finally says and sees Harry sigh deep as he starts to thumb himself, spreading precome across the head of his penis. 

“Look at how well your hands work, babe,” Louis puts his hands on top of Harry’s and they start stroking him in unison, with Louis pressing his groin to Harry’s bum in the same rhythm, “such beautiful hands.” He can see the veins on Harry’s hand through the thin skin, the muscles on Harry’s forearm move. “So lovely,” he sucks on the sweaty skin on Harry’s neck and uses all his will power to pull away. 

Louis rushes to his nightstand, rummaging through it to find the lube, glancing at the pack of condoms but deciding against it – they’re going to need another shower after this anyway, he reckons and makes a mental note to donate a decent sum to a water charity, and goes back to his Harry. 

“Could you spread your legs a little more?” Louis squirts a copious amount of lube on his hand, as Harry, nodding, stands wider and leans his hand to the mirror for support, still stroking himself with his other hand. Louis drops a few drips of lube on Harry’s hand as well, to increase the pleasure. 

Moving his lubed fingers to the top of Harry’s crack, fingertips tracing the outer edges like butterfly wings at first, Louis finally fits his finger deeper, running from bottom to top, his other hand rubbing Harry’s abs. 

“Lou,” Harry lets out a breath and it sounds absolutely desperate, as he lets his head droop down.

Louis’ tickles under Harry’s arm, the one leaning onto the mirror, and Harry instinctively pulls his arm towards his body, causing them to stumble ahead a little, with the support now gone. 

“None of that then,” Louis chortles as Harry reaches out his hand to lean on for support again. 

He finally, finally pushes his middle finger inside Harry, who gasps and gives himself a firmer stroke. Louis can feel Harry’s heart beat quicken under his hand resting on his chest, as he wiggles in another finger. He gives a long lick up Harry’s shoulder to his neck, all the way to his hairline. He can smell Harry’s shampoo, mixed with a bit of sweat, and something that is just the way Harry’s skin smells like. It’s intoxicating. 

They find a shared rhythm of Harry stroking himself and Louis moving his fingers deeper and pulling them out a little, opening Harry up, preparing him. “You ready, love?” Louis finally asks, and Harry just nods quickly, bending his back a little to push his bum out, allowing Louis fingers to get deeper. Louis pulls them away, adds a bit more lube to his hand and then massages it on his dick, feeling like it’s about to explode. 

Harry’s just whining and gasping and sucking his lower lip at this point, as Louis directs his penis into Harry. They share a gasp when Louis is fully in. They stand like that just for a little while, Harry getting used to the stretching inside him and Louis giving himself a little breather, adjusting to the devious heat and tightness of Harry. He gives Harry a tight, one-armed hug before they start moving, slowly at first, pace quickly picking up, with Louis’ hand on Harry’s lower stomach pulling him closer as he pushes into Harry. The sounds their bodies make are wet, sounding like filthy sex, Harry’s heavy breathing mixed with Louis soft grunting. 

Louis stares, mesmerised, how the muscles on Harry’s lower belly convulse as he comes, his back bending - Louis will probably never stop thanking the GP who initially suggested Harry to do yoga. With that thought, he comes deep inside Harry. 

They stand there, breathes evening gradually, skin cooling slighty; still feeling warm to the touch and like it prickles, but it doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore. 

“I wish you knew how much I want you all the time,” Louis looks Harry in the eye as he raises his hand to his mouth, licking the messy palm and sucking in each finger, one by one, cleaning Harry’s hand. Harry can’t tear his eyes away. 

His fingers are slim, long, they taste a bit salty. 

Louis gently bites the fingerbed of Harry’s ring finger. “So deliciously meaty.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Harry laughs and keeps looking at Louis, eyes sparkling. 

Louis moves to nibbling the inside of Harry’s wrists, alternating light kisses to nibbling on the tendons protruding. 

“Tickles,” Harry says quietly. 

Louis doesn’t reply. He presses kisses all the way up to the inside of Harry’s elbow, and leaves a big, wet smack on the warm skin, imagining he can hear blood rush through the veins there. Louis traces his fingers down, following the blue lines of blood veins; he pinches the tendons on Harry’s wrist, and then runs his fingers on all the veins and tendons visible on Harry’s hand, focused as if he’s writing a love letter, inking it permanently on Harry’s skin. Maybe he is. 

\--

It starts towards the end of a BBQ they’re throwing to their closest friends. Louis sees Harry grimace as he’s holding a pair of tongs, trying to flip some chicken burgers on the grill. Harry puts the tongs to the side, looking at his right hand and massaging it a little. 

“All good?” Louis asks lightly as he walks over under the disguise of coming to steal a piece of grilled halloumi. 

“Yeah,” Harry lies. Louis finds it ridiculous that Harry still thinks he can lie to Louis.

They’re doing the dishes in the following morning – well, afternoon – when a plate slips off Harry’s hand and breaks on the floor, followed by quiet cursing from Harry. 

“You alright?” Louis tries again. 

Harry makes a vague hand gesture. “Yeah yeah.” At that, Louis decides to let his stubborn partner be stubborn and wait until he decides to be less stubborn and tell Louis what’s going on. 

But, true to his stubborn self, Harry doesn’t really confide in Louis until one day, he comes home from a guitar jamming session and his right hand is wrapped in a blue and black wrist splint.

“The hell?” Louis’ voice sounds shrill. 

“It’s…” 

“Don’t you even bloody try to say it’s nothing.” 

“Fine,” Harry sighs and looks at his hand like it has disappointed him. “I didn’t think much of it, but I guess it’s like, it has an inflammation or something. For like, playing too much guitar. My hand’s not used to it.” 

Louis stares at him, pissed off. “You didn’t think to get someone to look at it when it first started hurting?” 

Harry looks surprised. “I… It didn’t hurt that much.” 

“Yes it did, Haz, it’s been hurting for bloody days!”

Harry at least has the decency to not deny it, he just looks down and looks embarrassed for being told off. 

Louis carries on. “Why are you so fucking incapable and unwilling to look after yourself?”

“Because you always do.” Harry looks up and he looks honest, and there’s really no denying it. That’s how they work, in general, looking after each other as a priority over themselves. 

A few very annoying days follow. Harry gets frustrated at being told to rest his hand, and he finds that his left hand is severely underdeveloped to do anything useful in practice. They keep snapping at each other, Harry out of frustration of being unable to do much and staying unactive – and also partly, Louis knows, out of guilt for having been uncaring and making Louis worry – and Louis, well, he sometimes has an unkind way of showing his worry. It comes as a blessing in disguise that Louis needs to leave town for unpleasant work commitments, so they’ll be able to have a bit of space from each other. Louis momentarily considers calling Anne to come babysit her son, but decides against it; facing a concerned mother hen is too much of a punishment, so he calls Gemma instead. They’re so alike anyway, he trusts Gemma to be kind to her cruelness and cruel to her kindness, and to softly guilt-trip yet still take care of a handless Harry. 

Louis comes home from his exhausting trip a week later, late at night, to their home smelling vaguely like pizza. He finds Harry lying on the sofa, wearing a worn-down vest that was probably Louis’ initially. 21 Jump Street’s menu is up on the TV screen, waiting to be played. 

“Hey,” Louis bends down to kiss Harry’s forehead. Harry smiles and sits up, opening his arms for Louis to come cuddle. 

Louis breathes Harry’s scent in, kisses his collarbone and notices the little splint is gone. “How’s the hand?” 

“Better,” Harry mumbles against the top of Louis’ head. “Have been good. No straining. Didn’t even cook. Ordered pizza.” 

“Best boy,” Louis kisses Harry’s cheek and bites his earlobe gently, squeezing tightly one last time before leading them to pizza. 

After dinner, they put the movie on. They’ve seen it several times. 

“I have a thing for you,” Louis says as he reaches for a cushion and places it on Harry’s lap.

Harry winks. “Lucky. I happen to have a thing for you too, you know.” 

Louis laughs and crosses his eyes, filling his cheeks with air so they blow up. “Such a tit, you are. Maybe you don’t deserve my thing.” 

Harry pouts. “I deserve everything. You want to give me the world.” 

Louis groans. “Fine. Also, true.” 

Harry puckers his lips to Louis who kisses him, and tells him he wants to give Louis the world, too. 

“So, I looked it up, and, you said you have tendonitis, so I’ve been watching some stuff,” Louis explains as he places his hands on Harry’s right forearm, warming it to his touch. Harry’s skin is soft, always warm, and for some reason – maybe because of the fine hair that’s almost invisible sometimes, or because it’s so well-formed with being muscly and a bit tiny at the same time, it’s one of Louis’ favourite parts of Harry. 

“It’s your wrist and hand that hurt, but actually, it’s really the muscles in your forearm that cause it,” Louis continues as he gently runs his hands up and down Harry’s forearm, unable to stop himself from wrapping his thumb and middle finger around Harry’s thin wrist, caressing the prominent bone with his thumb. He likes poking at Harry’s bones for some weird reason, like it makes Harry feel more real and alive. Louis can feel Harry’s pulse beating below his thumb, heartbeat strong, secure. “Now stretch out your arm, and bend your palm down and press it backwards. That’ll stretch your arm.” 

Louis watches Harry do as he’s told, a small grimace fleeting by on his face as the muscles stretch. Harry repeats the stretch with his other arm. 

“Also, I need you to do this like, after every session, like as a part of your guitar routine. Don’t let it get as bad as it did, yeah?” Louis aims for a gentle tone and based on Harry’s serious nod, succeeds. 

Louis starts massaging Harry’s forearm near to his elbow, pressing his thumb into the tight muscles. “Open your hand and wiggle it while I do this,” he instructs Harry, who complies. 

Louis moves his thumb bit by bit, going through all the tight spots, feeling Harry’s muscles work under his fingers and relax slowly. He alternates between his thumb and fingers, telling Harry to wiggle his fingers, open and close his hand, and do the strumming movement. 

“God, I feel like I’m dry wanking dry,” Harry chuckles. 

“Be a good boy and it won’t have to be dry,” Louis moves his hands down to Harry’s hand, starting to deal with the drained fingers. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Harry whines as Louis’ thumb digs into an especially tight part of flesh, under Harry’s thumb.

“Healthy tissue doesn’t feel tender, or hurt,” Louis says. “No wonder you’ve been in pain, your whole hand and arm are so bloody tight!” Louis carries on his movements probably a little gentler than he should, finding tight tissue, pressing his thumb down, pulling the muscle and watching Harry wiggle his fingers. 

Louis watches, mesmerised, as Harry’s long, beautiful fingers wiggle, with the muscles on his forearm stretching and moving. Louis can feel the tendons on Harry’s wrist pop up and down. It’s weird how, even with the new roughness due to Harry starting to play the guitar more, his hand still feels smoother than any other hand Louis has ever touched and warm to the touch. 

After going through both forearms and palms, Louis moves to gently massage the top of Harry’s hands. He suddenly remembers the very first time he saw Harry’s hands – hell, the very first time he saw Harry – as he caresses the skin, skin that feels very thin, over the prominent knuckles and veins of different thicknesses, covering Harry’s hands. There’s something so firm and solid about them, yet still delicate and soft, and he feels an incredibly embarrassing fondness of his boy’s hands, the way they feel to touch, the way their touch feels, and how they have lines of life and love that match Louis’ perfectly.

Harry suddenly strokes Louis’ cheek, waking him from his thoughts, and it feels even softer than Harry’s skin usually does. 

“I guess maybe my hands aren’t that girly anymore,” Harry suggests out of nowhere. “They’ve gotten rougher. All bones and knuckles, now.” 

“They’re my favourite hands, still,” Louis says softly. “Shows how much you’ve grown, and the things you’ve done, like you play the guitar now, and you do the dishes, and coo, and give excellent massages, and…”

“But don’t they feel… Different?” 

Louis considers for a moment. “I mean… Yeah. Like, it feels different, but it’s still… It’s still your touch, the same hands that pet me, or pat me, and, maybe it’s not the same as before, but it’s still you. Just, a more grown-up you. I’m never going to complain about something that’s like, a result of our shared life and the things you do for me.” 

\--

A few years later, after Harry hasn’t mentioned hating any part of himself in a long, long while, when Harry replies to an interviewer’s question saying his hands are bony, nothing but that – and hey, it’s true – , Louis considers he’s done a pretty bang up job at this love and support thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! Thank you so much if you made it here; I hope you did enjoy. Comments and kudos are better than hand massages, and mean the world to me x 
> 
> [I am also absolutely welcoming of hand massages, too.]


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